


the biggest, tallest tree

by arysa13



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkwardness, Best Friends, Christmas, Embarrassment, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Mutual Pining, Smut, strip monopoly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:48:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28108098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arysa13/pseuds/arysa13
Summary: Clarke walks in on Bellamy naked, and just his luck it’s freezing cold and he doesn’t give the best impression. So he has to prove to her that he actually does have a big dick.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 66
Kudos: 401
Collections: Bellarke smut





	the biggest, tallest tree

**Author's Note:**

> happy holidays my friends

Jasper starts the snowball fight. Bellamy is staring into the trunk of Clarke’s car, trying to work out which suitcase is his and which is hers—they bought them on sale at the same time, and yet neither of them had thought to add any adornment which might signify ownership— when a lump of snow hits him in the shoulder.

It’s snowed recently, so the snow isn’t too icy, and Jasper doesn’t have the strongest arm, so it’s not painful. But they haven’t even unpacked their stuff yet, and no one is wearing snow gear—Bellamy just has on jeans and a woollen pea coat.

He’s about to tell Jasper to knock it off and save it for later when he hears Clarke shriek—evidently hit by another snowball, thrown by—

“Murphy!” Clarke huffs.

Bellamy stifles a grin. She’s so easy to rile up—and though seconds ago Bellamy had been against the snowball fight himself, he thinks maybe it would do her good. They’re here to let loose a little, after all. All of them are avoiding Christmas with their families—or don’t have families to spend it with. Bellamy kind of considers this his family anyway.

“Are you going to let him get away with that?” Bellamy teases, abandoning the luggage to peer around the car at Clarke’s unimpressed expression, remnants of the snowball glittering on her sweater. She’s also not really dressed for a snowball fight—even less so, with her heeled boots.

But she arches an eyebrow at him, her lip curling in a slight smirk. “You think we can take them?”

“Oh, I know we can,” Bellamy grins.

Clarke crouches down where she stands between her car and Raven’s, and starts gathering snow with her gloved hands. “You boys have no idea what you’ve started!” she calls.

The others join in too, Monty and Harper joining Jasper and Murphy’s team, while Raven and Miller join Clarke and Bellamy.

Twenty minutes later, snow has soaked him to the bones, his socks are wet, and he’s probably going to have bruises from some of the snowballs that hit him. But he feels good—energised and carefree. He doesn’t often feel like that.

There’s not really a winner, though Clarke claims it’s their team. Her cheeks are flushed, tendrils of blonde hair escaping her previously immaculate braid as she crows about their victory. Bellamy feels a familiar tug in his chest, the urge to pull her close and kiss her senseless almost overwhelming.

He’s had to get good at controlling his impulses lately. Since his thoughts about her stopped being entirely platonic. He doesn’t even know how long it’s been now—years for sure. But he doesn’t want to risk their friendship—this perfect little family they’ve built—for what might be one stupid kiss.

She shivers then, and Bellamy’s thoughts turn from sexual to protective.

“We should head inside,” he says. “Get out of these wet clothes.”

With murmurs of agreement from everyone else, Bellamy grabs both his and Clarke’s suitcase from the trunk. They can figure out which is which once they’re inside. He leaves the others to gather their own bags, while following Clarke to the front door. She’s the one with the key after all.

It’s her mom’s cabin, though Abby Griffin is unaware that they’re using it. She thinks Clarke is staying in her dorm over the break to study. And even though Clarke didn’t want to spend Christmas with her mom and her new husband, Bellamy can tell it still hurts that her mom didn’t even _try_ to convince her to come home for Christmas.

It’s just as cold inside as it is outside, maybe even more so, with the curtains closed up, barring any sunlight from taking the edge off the chill.

“Fuck,” Bellamy curses, shivering in his wet clothes. “Maybe we should have put the heating on before we decided to have a snowball fight.”

“Hindsight,” Clarke scoffs. “Come on, let’s pick the best rooms before the others get their stuff.”

She leads him upstairs, and they pick rooms next to each other, and close to one of the three bathrooms for easy shower access. Bellamy hands Clarke a suitcase at random, hoping for the best.

He sheds his wet clothes as soon as the bedroom door is shut behind him. The snow has melted all the way through his jeans and into his underwear, so he sheds them too, and it’s fucking cold in his room, but it’s better naked than with the damp clothes on.

He unzips his suitcase, shivering, his nipples like icicles. His fingers and toes feel like they’re about to drop off. His dick too, actually. Only, once the suitcase is open, he immediately realises it’s not his at all. Clarke’s sweaters are neatly folded, so unlike his scrunch and shove technique. And nestled between the sweaters is a massive silicone dildo. Like fucking _huge._ Seventeen inches, according to the packaging. It stares back at him, mocking him.

He can feel a blush creep over his face as he stares at it, and it’s wrong, but maybe understandable, that the image of Clarke with the massive thing between her legs, flashes through his brain. Thankfully, it’s brief, and he manages to get a handle on himself before his dick responds.

He snaps the suitcase shut, and is about to put at least his boxers back on, then hurry the suitcase next door, when his own door bursts open. The surprise of having Clarke suddenly standing in his doorway prevents him from covering himself, and before he can get a word out, her eyes drop to his crotch.

“Oh,” she says. And it wouldn’t be so bad, because he’s not ashamed of his body, and after living with Clarke for a year and a half, neither of them great with respecting each other’s privacy, it’s a miracle this hasn’t happened sooner.

But then, like something out of his worst nightmares, she _laughs_. While staring straight at his cock. It’s not a nervous, embarrassed giggle—that he could probably deal with. No, it’s a full-blown fucking cackle, like she’s never seen anything funnier in her life.

He finally puts his hands over his cock, and that just makes him feel even more embarrassed, because now it feels like he actually has something to be embarrassed _about_. His skin prickles hotly with his humiliation.

“Sorry,” she says, about barging in on him, or is it condolences for what she clearly considers his pathetic cock? She turns her head away and places his suitcase in the room. “Here’s your suitcase. Just drop mine in my room when you’re ready, I’m going to take a shower.”

She hurries from the room then, closing the door behind her.

“Fuck,” Bellamy mutters, striding over to the suitcase. He looks down at his cock. Fucking hell. The cold has caused it to shrink well below his usual size—but he’s still not _tiny_. His balls are all shrivelled up too, and he will admit that he’s not his usual impressive self.

But did she have to react like _that_? Is there anything worse that can happen to a guy than the woman he’s in love with _laughing_ at his cock?

He throws his suitcase on the bed and hurriedly dresses in his spare jeans and a sweater, that sick feeling still sitting in the pit of his stomach.

He thinks about the dildo Clarke brought with her. Evidently, she’s something of a size queen. And the thing is, Bellamy’s cock isn’t even _small_. Even at its current reduced length and girth, it only brings him down to average size. He’s bigger than any other cock he’s ever seen that wasn’t from porn. Sometimes he thinks he even rivals those guys. He’s been with girls who wouldn’t take him, who said it hurt too much. He’s only been with a couple of people who could take his whole cock down their throat.

And yet, Clarke had to see him at his absolute worst, and now she’s never going to want him, because she thinks he has a painfully average sized cock. Even if the chance of it happening before was tiny, now it’s even smaller. Pun not intended.

He returns Clarke’s suitcase to her room while she’s still in the shower, and by the time he comes downstairs someone has finally put the heating on, and it’s already starting to feel a little warmer.

“What’s up your ass?” Miller asks, descending from upstairs, noting Bellamy’s sour expression. He’s still sulking about his encounter with Clarke.

“Nothing,” Bellamy mutters. He glances over to where Jasper, Monty, and Harper are pulling Christmas ornaments out of a box by the window, the heavy curtains now open to let the sun in, and Raven is by the fireplace, trying to light it, though it seems redundant seeing as the house is fully ducted.

Clarke descends the staircase moments later, looking softer now, her heeled boots replaced with slippers, an oversized sweater that he thinks maybe once belonged to him, and her hair out and curling around her face. Bellamy quickly looks away from her, his face heating up as he relives his embarrassment. Miller, of course, doesn’t miss it.

“Maybe you, me, and Murphy can go and find a tree to cut down and you can tell us about it,” he suggests, quiet enough for only Bellamy to hear.

“Fine,” Bellamy agrees. Anything to be away from Clarke right now.

Miller announces their departure and they don their snow jackets and boots, and Bellamy grabs the chainsaw, before they head back out into the snow. Miller and Murphy let Bellamy stew in silence for a minute or so before they start demanding answers for his sudden bad mood.

“So?” Miller prompts. “What happened with Clarke?”

“You didn’t try to make a move, did you?” Murphy says. “Everyone knows you don’t have game when it comes to Clarke.”

“Shut up,” Bellamy mutters. He sincerely regrets telling his friends about his feelings for Clarke. Now they always want to “help” him. But seeing as Miller is gay and Murphy is perpetually striking out, their skills with women are sorely lacking.

“Just tell us what happened,” Miller says.

Bellamy blows out a controlled breath, already knowing he’s going to regret telling them later. “She walked in on me. Naked. Saw everything.”

Murphy laughs. “Lucky girl.”

“Well. She didn’t think she was so lucky.”

“You’re saying she saw your dick and _didn’t_ want to jump you right there? Wow, I don’t think that’s ever happened to you before,” Miller smirks.

“You’re deeper in the friendzone than I thought,” Murphy muses. “Maybe she got you at a bad angle?”

“It was cold, okay? So I wasn’t exactly at my full potential. And she has this _massive_ dildo in her suitcase—”

“So she thinks you have a micro-dick?”

“I’m not _you,_ Murphy,” Bellamy huffs. “But she obviously likes big dicks, okay? And now she thinks I don’t have one when I do. I mean, not seventeen inches, but—”

“SEVENTEEN INCHES?” Murphy shrieks.

Miller shrugs. “I’ve had bigger.” He barrels on before either of his friends can comment on that. “Look, we just need to show her that it was a bad moment for you, and that you’re actually quite well endowed.”

“And how exactly are we going to do that?”

“You gotta get naked again, obviously.”

“I can’t just get naked for no reason. She’ll know something’s up.”

“So we’ll play strip poker or something, and you can just purposefully lose every hand.”

Bellamy mulls it over. It actually doesn’t sound like the worst plan. Once they bring the tree back and they’ve been inside the cosy warm house for a while, he should be back to his full potential. And purposefully losing at poker without being obvious about it shouldn’t be too hard, especially if they’ve all had a few drinks.

“Yeah, okay,” he agrees. “Murphy, what do you think?”

“Sorry, I’m still stuck on seventeen inches,” he says. “How big _have_ you had, Miller?”

Miller ignores him. “Let’s just pick a tree already, I’m freezing my dick off.”

The others are less than impressed with their choice of tree, which Bellamy thinks isn’t fair seeing as no one else had offered to come and help them choose it.

Clarke eyes it with distaste. “Seriously, Bell, you couldn’t have picked one a little bigger? It’s all wonky too.”

Murphy cracks up laughing at that, while Bellamy scowls.

“If you don’t like my tree, you’re perfectly within your rights to find another tree that’s more suitable to your standards,” he says petulantly. “I know how important size is to you.”

She raises an eyebrow. “This will do,” she says, eyeing him suspiciously, like she knows his words have a double meaning but she can’t quite work out what he’s getting at.

“Who wants a drink?” Bellamy announces, sufficiently changing the subject.

The afternoon is spent drinking and eating and decorating the house, and then after dinner, cooked by Murphy and Harper, it’s Miller who finally suggests strip poker. Everyone is tipsy enough to agree. Except, as it turns out, nobody brought a pack of cards, and there doesn’t seem to be one in the house.

“Well,” says Clarke, staring into the mostly empty games cupboard. “We can play strip Clue or strip Monopoly. The British version.”

The consensus is that Clue requires too much brain power for where they’re currently at, and Clarke sets up the Monopoly board. Bellamy purposefully sits opposite her so that she will have a perfect, unrestricted view when he finally loses his last piece of clothing. He’d gone to the bathroom earlier, checking himself out while he was in there, and he’s satisfied she won’t be disappointed this time.

They start with less money than the rules suggest, with the idea that once you run out you start paying in clothing. Bellamy figures he’ll just waste his money buying up properties and then conveniently forgetting to tell people to pay rent when they land on them.

Purposefully losing at Monopoly isn’t as easy as purposefully losing at poker though. He can’t exactly land on Mayfair and not buy it without people being suspicious. And Jasper keeps annoyingly reminding him when someone lands on his properties, in a British accent no less, so he never actually runs out of money, and remains fully clothed the whole game. He’d even stripped down to just a t-shirt and jeans before the game started so he’d have less to take off—and it’s hot enough in the living room anyway. But he never even gets the chance to take his shirt off. And he loves taking off his shirt.

Clarke is hilariously bad at Monopoly. Or unlucky, or something. She loses all her money fast, and Bellamy hates himself, because getting her naked was so not the point of this exercise, but his pulse quickens when she has to take off her sweater and hand it to Raven. Her _sweater_.

Raven is ruthless at the game, which is unsurprising. She too remains fully clothed, putting the clothes she wins from other people on over her own. She buys up all the red and yellow properties and with hotels on all of them, no one can get past that side of the board without relinquishing something to Raven.

Monty, Harper, Miller, and Murphy have enough properties of their own to keep them afloat, occasionally handing over a shirt or a sock, or someone else’s shirt or sock that they’ve won.

But Clarke isn’t so lucky. If Bellamy didn’t know better, he’d say _she_ was the one trying to lose on purpose. Her t-shirt goes next, and Bellamy swears he tries not to stare as her lacy green bra comes into view and she throws the shirt at Murphy’s head. But her tits look so fucking perfect, and they kind of jiggle slightly as she moves, and _fuck_ he wants to put his mouth on them.

Murphy elbows him, wiggling his eyebrows when Bellamy looks his way.

“ _You’re welcome_ ,” he mouths, and Bellamy rolls his eyes, turning his attention back to the board, except somehow. he gets stuck on Clarke’s tits again, and is unable to look away until Jasper points out Harper landed on Mayfair again, and she’s forced to give up her shirt as well. It’s not nearly as exciting to him as Clarke’s.

When Clarke lands on Trafalgar Square on her next turn, all eyes are on her as Raven forces her to pay up. No gaze is as heated as Bellamy’s though, and no one’s heart is beating quite as fast.

Clarke stands up to peel her jeans off, delighting the crowd with an accidental strip tease. Raven gives a wolf whistle, and there’s a hoot from Murphy, but their attention is captured by the game again as soon as it’s Jasper’s go. Bellamy, however, is not so easily distracted.

He’s seen her in a bikini before, probably more revealing than the underwear she’s got on now, and yes, he fantasised about taking it off her. This is more intimate somehow. Her panties aren’t exactly matching, though she appears to have gone with a Christmas theme—they’re white, with little bunches of holly patterned over them.

Bellamy wants to run his fingers over them, up and down her slit, make her wet for him. Wants to lick her cunt until she cries, then push his thick fingers inside her, make her beg for his cock. Wants to hear her tell him he’s the biggest she’s ever had, that he feels better than her seventeen-inch dildo even. He imagines her having to give up another piece of clothing on her next go, and he can’t decide if he wants it to happen or if he can’t bear to have everyone else see too.

He’s so lost in his fantasy he doesn’t even realise he’s still staring, until Miller shoves him, reminding him that it’s his turn. Clarke’s eyes are on him, and the flush across her face and chest tell him she hasn’t missed the direction of his gaze, and then he’s blushing too, because he’s been fucking caught out.

She’s not the only one who notices the way his eyes lingered on her either, and then all his friends are teasing him, telling him to have some sense of shame or decency. It’s good-natured fun, Bellamy knows that. He was caught blatantly checking out his half-naked best friend, he deserves the ribbing. He tries to laugh it off—after all, none of them really know what he feels for Clarke. Miller and Murphy think he has a cute little crush, and he supposes everyone else just thinks he thinks Clarke is hot. But god, it’s so, so much worse than that.

He’s watching Clarke from the corner of his eye, and she’s smiling too, but he can tell it’s as forced as his own. Bellamy rolls the dice in the hopes of distracting everyone back to the game, and thankfully, it works. Thank god for their short attention spans. He pays Raven the rent he owes, and then Murphy takes his turn.

“I think I’m done for the night, guys,” Clarke says, standing up. She forces a smile, and Bellamy’s heart swoops. She’s upset, and he’s not entirely sure why, but he’s sure it’s his fault somehow.

“Buzzkill!” Raven shouts.

“Gotta have some secrets from you guys,” Clarke laughs. She doesn’t bother to grab her clothes before she hurries upstairs, Bellamy the only one watching her go. He waits half a second after she’s disappeared from view before he follows, ignoring the suggestive jibes from his friends. This is not some ploy to get into her bed, he just wants to check that she’s okay.

He knocks on her bedroom door, and there’s only a split-second pause before she calls for him to come in. He enters cautiously and shuts the door behind him. She’s got a fluffy grey robe on over her underwear now, to Bellamy’s relief and disappointment.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “Sorry, I was kind of spaced out, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s fine, Bellamy,” she says. “I’m not upset about that.”

“Then what—"

“If you wanted to even the score, you could have just said so,” she interrupts.

“Huh?” Bellamy says, bewildered.

“I know strip Monopoly was your idea,” she says rolling her eyes. “I saw your dick so you figured it was only fair you see something of mine, right?”

“Um—”

“Will boobs do or do you need to see my pussy too to make it even?”

“Jesus Christ,” Bellamy chokes. “God. Fuck. That’s not—that’s not the reason.”

Clarke deflates. “Oh.”

“God. Did you think I was just trying to humiliate you? Is that why you were upset?” he can’t deny, it hurts to know she could think that of him.

“No, I don’t know,” Clarke sighs. “I was just annoyed I was losing. And then everyone was making fun of me.”

“I think they were making fun of _me_ ,” Bellamy points out. “For being the most unsubtle dickhead on the planet.”

“So you _were_ checking me out?” Clarke smiles.

He shrugs. “Little bit. Can you blame me?”

“I mean, I am pretty hot,” Clarke’s small smile breaks into a grin. “So what was the reason for strip Monopoly anyway? If not to get me naked?”

He groans, running his hand through his hair, as if trying to buy time. “It’s embarrassing,” he mutters. “I, uh—when you walked in on me earlier. I didn’t feel like you saw me at my full potential. And I didn’t want that to be your only impression of me.”

Clarke raises an eyebrow, “You weren’t trying to get _me_ naked, you were trying to get _yourself_ naked.”

“It sounds egotistical when you put it like that.”

“What else would you call it? Were you or were you not trying to show off the size of your dick?”

“I was trying to save face! God, you fucking _laughed_ at my cock, Clarke. That wasn’t fun. I just wanted you to know I’m not actually that small,” he shrugs.

Clarke covers her quickly reddening face with a hand. “Oh my god,” she whispers. “I’m sorry I laughed. I was surprised. And I was thinking about the Christmas present I bought for Raven as a joke and how if I got you hard you might rival it for size. I absolutely did not think you were _small_ for fuck’s sake. For someone with such a big cock you’re very insecure.”

“Seventeen inches? That was for Raven?”

“You saw it?”

“Yeah, I mean, I thought your suitcase was mine—”

“And you assumed the dildo was mine too. Oh my god.” She’s blushing again, and he can’t help but feel proud of himself. She’s usually kind of immune to embarrassment, and this is the second time tonight he’s made her blush.

“Seriously though, seventeen inches? You thought I rivalled seventeen inches?” he can’t keep the smug smile from his face.

She glares at him, but even that can’t dampen his mood. “I wasn’t exactly thinking straight.”

“Why, because my cock is just that good it left you dumbfounded?”

“You’re so annoying.” Bellamy grins wider. She’s still not _denying_ that she likes his cock. “Why do you even care what I think about your cock?”

She catches him off guard with that question, and his grin drops. He shrugs. “Your opinion matters to me,” he says. That’s no secret. They’re best friends, of course her opinion matters.

“My opinion on your dick? As long as your lovers are satisfied, I don’t see why you need my approval.”

He hesitates too long, stuck of the word _lover_. On the thought of her being his. Her eyes meet his, and something seems to click into place. “Unless…” she starts, but she’s too unsure to finish the sentence.

“Unless?” he prompts, too eager. His heart is thrumming, butterflies swirling in his stomach. He wants her to say it, because he doesn’t have the nerve. What if he says it out loud and it ruins everything?

“Never mind,” she says quickly.

He swallows, giving a short nod, trying not to show his disappointment. “Well, I’ll let you get some sleep then,” he says. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Clarke echoes faintly as Bellamy leaves the room.

He goes straight to his room after that. It’s getting late now, and he’s not in the mood for Monopoly or getting teased by his friends. The only thing he’s really in the mood for is wrapping his hand around his semi-hard cock and thinking about Clarke in her underwear. Since he can’t have the real thing.

But by the time he’s lying in bed in his boxers, he feels too weird about getting off to the thought of her while she’s in the next room, so he just lies there, wallowing in self-pity over a missed opportunity.

He replays their conversation over in his mind, hating himself more and more. He should’ve admitted the real reason why he wants her to be impressed by his cock. He should’ve kissed her. Looking back on it now, he can almost convince himself she wanted him to. Why is he such an idiot when it comes to her?

He groans, rolling over to bury his head in his pillow, hoping it will muffle his self-hatred. He feels like he fucked up his one shot—she gave him the perfect opportunity to make his move, and he blew it. But then he wonders if maybe it’s not too late. Her almost accusation still hangs in the air—it wouldn’t be totally out of the blue if he admitted it to her now.

Back home, they’ll pretend it never happened. That there wasn’t an almost moment where she nearly asked him if he wanted her to be his lover, where he nearly blurted it out. But here, now, it’s still a possibility. And he’s sure now that he has to tell her tonight, or he never will, and he doesn’t want to go his whole life wondering what she would’ve said if he’d admitted it.

He waits until he hears the last of his friends go to bed, his heart hammering in his chest the whole time. He slips out of bed, not even bothering to put clothes on. If it goes how he wants it to, he hopefully won’t need them.

He pads next door, nerves jangling, heart in his throat. He pauses, his fist held up to the door, ready to knock. She’s probably asleep. He should wait until morning, at least. Excuses, he knows that. He’s chickening out, trying to justify his own cowardice. He sighs, dropping his hand.

He makes it all the way back to his room, doubts of her reciprocation overshadowing his earlier determination. But as soon as he shuts his bedroom door behind him, he’s kicking himself. He should just fucking do it. Tell her how he feels, and if she doesn’t return his feelings, so be it. He’ll get over it. He’s a grown man, he can handle rejection. And he’s mature enough that he won’t let it ruin their friendship.

He nods to himself, strengthening his resolve once again. He flings his bedroom door open and steps out into the hallway, only to have a small, soft being collide with his chest. He quickly grabs her by the arms to steady her, having almost knocked her off her feet in his enthusiasm.

“God, I’m sorry,” he says, overly apologetic as Clarke collects herself. She’s in her pyjamas now, also Christmas themed, the cotton pants are covered in candy canes and the t-shirt reads _naughty or nice?_

She glances at his hand on her bicep, making her arms look tiny, and he quickly drops his hands. “Sorry,” he says again.

“No, it’s okay,” she says quickly. She pulls her gaze from his bare chest to his face. “I’m the one standing in your doorway.”

“You are,” he realises. “What are you doing in my doorway?”

For the third time that night, a flush creeps over Clarke’s face. Bellamy’s heart skips a beat, and his cock jumps, his body interpreting her reaction in a way his brain is half sure can’t possibly be true.

“I was just thinking how—how you never got to redeem yourself. It’s not fair on you if I go around with an inaccurate representation of what your cock looks like.”

“You came here to see my cock.”

“And maybe, um—put it in my mouth a little bit? You know, if you wanted—”

He cuts her off with a kiss. If he still had any doubts left after her saying she wants to put his cock in her mouth, the way she melts into him dispels the last of them. Like she’s been imagining this moment in her head as often as he has, and now it’s finally happening.

“I’ll take that as a yes?” Clarke breathes, breaking this kiss for just a moment. Bellamy nods capturing her lips again for just a moment before he pulls away.

“I was on my way to your room,” he admits.

“Yeah?” Clarke looks up at him, hopeful smile on her face.

Bellamy nods. “Come inside,” he says, pulling her into his room.

“I think I’m supposed to be the one saying that to you,” Clarke says, and it takes him a beat to get it, snorting out an embarrassed laugh when it clicks. His cock does not think it’s funny, and it throbs painfully at the mere mention of coming inside her.

“I just want to say something before—before we do anything else. In the interests of full disclosure.”

“Okay…” Clarke says, drawing the word out, maybe a little concerned.

“I have feelings for you,” he blurts out, before he can chicken out again. “Non-platonic type feelings.”

“That was kind of obvious from the way you were kissing me,” Clarke points out.

“No,” he huffs, exasperated. “It’s not just that I’m attracted to you, okay? I like you a lot. I want—I want more than one blowjob.”

“I’ll give you blowjobs any time you want if your cock is as good as you say it is.”

“Clarke,” he groans. “You’re not getting it.”

“ _You’re_ not saying it.”

Bellamy swallows, and his heart is so goddamn wild he half thinks he’s having a heart attack. “I love you,” he says, the words barely audible. “I’m in love with you and I want you to be my girlfriend.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay, but I need to see your cock first, to make sure I love you back.”

He snorts, but her words quiet the doubts in his head. She wouldn’t be joking around if she was about to let him down gently. And she’s smiling at him, though she’s trying to pretend she’s not.

Bellamy hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and pulls them down, dropping them to his ankles.

She doesn’t laugh this time. Her pupils are so wide her eyes are almost black, and her lip is caught between her teeth. He’s mostly hard, cock almost at its full size. Some kind of strangled whimper escapes from her throat.

“Well?” he prompts.

Clarke meets his eyes, her cheeks flushed red. “I definitely love you too.”

He laughs, a light giddiness washing over him. “Thank god.”

“Get on the bed,” Clarke tells him. “I need to suck your cock.” The huskiness of her voice makes him stop laughing, and he backs towards the bed, falling onto it when the backs of his knees hit the mattress.

He watches as Clarke pulls her t-shirt over her head, but he doesn’t see what happens to it after that, too focused on her bare tits. His cock jumps to full attention, and then she takes a deep breath and drops her pyjama pants too, so she’s fully naked.

“Now we’re even,” she says. Bellamy just nods, unable to form a response. He stares at her naked form, and he’s not entirely sure they _are_ even, not when she looks like _that_. Perfect. Like every fucking wet dream he’s ever had, only this time it’s real. And now she’s coming towards him and looking at him like she wants to devour him and he feels like he’s going to combust if she doesn’t put her mouth on him soon.

She stops between his legs, and sinks to her knees. The simple action makes his breath catch. He’s so fucking horny for her.

“I probably won’t be able to take it all,” she says apologetically. “I’ve only been with smaller guys before.”

“Good to know,” Bellamy manages, trying unsuccessfully to not let her words feed his ego.

She takes him in her hand and God, he swears he almost comes just from the sight of her tiny hand around his huge cock. She leans forward, and Bellamy’s heart stutters as her tongue slips out of her mouth to glide over the tip of him.

“Fuck,” he groans. “You look so fucking good on your knees, Clarke. I’ve thought about this so many times.”

“You’re so big,” she murmurs, between long, sloppy licks down his length. “Even your balls. Fucking hell.” She runs her tongue over them, one, then the other, and Bellamy groans. She’s taking her sweet time, and it’s torture.

When she’s sufficiently lubed up his cock with her tongue, she finally takes him into her mouth.

“Shit, holy shit,” he moans. “Your mouth.”

She can’t take him all, gagging about halfway down, but honestly, that just makes it hotter. That he’s so big she can’t take it. That’s she’s willing to risk choking to death for his cock. She bobs up and down on his cock, her hand working the half she can’t reach, hollowing out her cheeks to create a sweet suction.

His breathing becomes ragged, coming out in staccato bursts, and he fists his hand in her hair pulling slightly, on the edge of coming. She does something with her tongue that pushes him over, and then he’s coming down her throat, thick hot jets of it that seemingly never end, and she swallows it, gulping it down until she physically can’t anymore, and the last of it comes trickling out of her mouth as she lifts her head.

“Sorry,” he pants. “Probably should’ve warned you I tend to produce a lot more come than most men.”

“It’s okay,” she says.

“Fuck, you look sexy like that. Naked, my come on your face. Hair all messed up.”

Clarke whines, like his words make her just as horny as the sight of her makes him. Her legs are pressed together tightly. Bellamy can’t wait to get his head between them, to get his fingers between them, and his cock.

“How long until I can have you in my pussy?” she asks, breathless with need.

“Soon, baby,” he promises. “Let me make you feel good with my mouth while you wait, okay?”

Clarke nods, and Bellamy pats the bed beside him. Clarke scrambles up onto it, and Bellamy gets a lovely view of her bare ass as she crawls up the bed, before she lies down on her back. She spreads her legs, eager to be serviced.

He crawls between her legs on his elbows, and Clarke lifts her hips, jutting her bare pussy towards his face. He doesn’t oblige her right away, instead pressing his lips to her inner thigh, just below the crease.

“Bellamy, if you don’t fucking lick my pussy right now, I will never suck your cock again,” she threatens, her voiced strained.

Not trusting that she won’t make good on her threat, Bellamy delves his tongue between her folds and quickly locates her clit. He keeps his mouth on her cunt until he’s hard again, teasing her clit, making her writhe beneath him, but never letting her reach orgasm. She pants and swears at him, and he loves her like this, desperate and worked up.

He stops abruptly, when she’s right on the edge, and the frustrated sob she lets out almost makes him feel bad.

“I’m ready,” he says. “You want my cock, baby?”

“Yes,” Clarke moans. “Please, put your big fat cock in me.” But as he positions himself, lining up with her dripping cunt, she hesitates. “Fuck,” she groans. “It’s so fucking big. It’s not going to fit.”

“It will fit,” he assures her. “You can take it, baby, I know you can. You want it bad enough.”

“I do,” she agrees, but she still seems unsure.

“You want to be on top?” he offers. “Then you can be in control of how much you take. And I get to watch your pretty tits while you ride me.”

Clarke nods, and they switch positions. He usually prefers to be on top, but he can’t deny he likes this view of her.

She presses her wet slit against his cock, and he can feel her arousal making her slide against him. She lifts herself up, and his hands come to rest on her hips as she lowers herself onto his cock.

“Fuck,” she breathes, halfway down. “Fuck, you’re so thick.”

He can feel her squeezing around him, and if he hadn’t already come once before, he thinks he’d be in danger of being premature.

Her thighs tremble as she holds herself up, keeping herself from impaling herself on his cock entirely. She sinks lower, moaning as he stretches her open further.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” Bellamy assures her. “You feel amazing.”

Clarke moans in response, dropping herself further, centimetres from taking the whole thing now.

“I’m so full,” she whimpers. “You’re so big.” He can’t get enough of hearing her say it.

“Is it too much? Too big for your tight little pussy, baby?”

Clarke shakes her head, and then she lets go, letting gravity do the rest of the work. Their pelvises meet, and then he has his whole cock stuffed inside her hot, wet cunt, splitting her open, her face red from exertion.

“God,” she groans. “You feel so good. I’m so fucking full. Oh my god.”

She takes her time adjusting to his size, and Bellamy forces himself to stay still, though he’s desperate to fuck her hard. They’ll have to work up to that.

Slowly, she starts to rock her hips, and his cock pulses inside her, revelling in the delicious teasing. He lets her set the pace, and she gradually grows confidence, her thrusts becoming more forceful. Their hips move in time with each other, and Bellamy watches her tits bounce, entranced.

She fucks herself on his cock, more and more desperately, moaning his name, and Bellamy can feel himself growing close as well.

“Fuck,” she whines. “I’m so close, Bell. So close.”

“Me too,” he grunts.

“Yes,” she moans. “Right there, oh my god. Come with me. Come in me, please.”

Her breathing is short and fast, and he can’t respond because he’s right there on the precipice with her.

A strangled cry rips from her throat and Bellamy can feel her cunt squeezing him for all he’s worth, liquid gushing from her cunt to coat his cock and balls as she continues to bounce on his cock. Moments later he meets her there, and she’s still mid-orgasm as he coats her walls with his seed, filling her up entirely with cock and semen until it drips out of her, while he gasps through the pleasure.

“Fucking hell,” he groans, when he’s finally empty, both of come and of energy. Clarke collapses on top of him, letting his cock slip out of her as she buries her head in his chest.

Sweaty and satisfied, he wraps his arms around her, and presses his lips to the top of her head.

“Why did we wait so long to do that?” Clarke mumbles into his chest.

“I don’t know about you, but I was terrified I was going to fuck up the only family I have,” he says. “I couldn’t bear it if I lost you, you know? If things got awkward and we stopped talking.”

“You’ll never lose me,” Clarke promises. “Where am I ever going to find dick that good?”

“I’m being serious.”

“I know. And I love you. And I would never let anything come between us,” she promises. “But you are going to have to get better at picking Christmas trees if we’re going to be together.”

“Fine,” he laughs. “Maybe we could host something for Christmas next year,” he suggests. “I could cook. Start our own traditions for our own family.”

“I’d like that,” Clarke smiles, looking up at him, her chin resting on his chest. Bellamy shifts slightly, jostling her, and she winces.

“You okay?”

“Think you sprained my vagina,” she says. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to walk properly tomorrow.”

“God, you really want to stroke my ego tonight, don’t you?”

“Well, I have to make up for my horrible first reaction.”

“You’ve more than made up for it,” Bellamy assures her.

Clarke smiles, and leans up to peck him on the lips. “Now we should sleep, because Raven bet me that you and I would fuck this weekend and I won’t be able to face her gloating if I’ve had no sleep.”

They don’t sleep, not really. They drift in and out of slumber, in between whispering to each other, giggling like school kids at a sleepover, touching each other like teenagers exploring each other’s bodies for the first time.

When the morning comes, Bellamy doesn’t even feel tired, just content, knowing he finally has everything he needs.


End file.
